Tag Archives: books

Student Blogs

i beat a dead horse and also give you homework im sorry

Alyssa try not to bring up Edi Giunta or memoir in your blog challenge: failed.

I promise this week’s blog will be shorter, if only because I have some supplemental reading I am providing you all with. I apologize in advance.

The idea of this reading—that writing can be a tool for healing for the body and the soul—is something I am intimately familiar with. Writing has always been an outlet for me. I think you can pick any writer off the street, and nine times out of ten, they would tell you that the writing process is healing for them, too. I love seeing all the way healing comes out of writing, and I love reading Pennebaker and Chung’s explanations as to why it works.

In line with last week’s theme of looking back at our old work and admiring our fluidity, inspired by this week’s theme of writing as healing, I decided to look back at my process essay that I wrote after finishing my memoir for class. Instead of reinventing the wheel, I thought I would share a revised excerpt with you all here:

I did not know where writing this memoir would lead me. I started with a vague idea of what I wanted to write, but I did not know how I would do it. I did not know why I would write it. However, after these four months, I found a common thread between my pieces: these are all moments I know happened. I could tell you what happened, give you a timeline, describe the events on their surface level. I could not tell you what effects these moments had on me, until now.

I write to process. I create, erase, and reshape words until I am once again familiar with the face of my youth. I trace the outline of myself, guided by the writers before me. Louise DeSalvo. Margaux Fragoso. Melida Rodas. Emily Bernard. They hold my hand as I look into the mirror.

If I push too hard, the glass will shatter. I cannot be my younger self again; I cannot fix her problems. I cannot tell her it will be okay. All I can do is look at her through the mirror of memoir, and answer her questions for myself. Who are you? I hope she is fine.

In writing “A Rosary Held So Tight It Leaves Marks”, I see myself through the hundreds of eyes in the mirror. I see myself from the Ikea bookshelf in my childhood room. I see myself from the St. Clare’s bathroom mirror. I see myself in glass, in mugs and phone screens. Memoir surrounds me; I have become comfortable with it.

I would also like to leave you all with another piece of writing that has stuck with me for a long time—the book Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo. DeSalvo, mentioned in my process essay, was a fellow writer of memoir, and recognized the power of writing. I’ve thought a lot about her recently during our class discussions, but I haven’t figured out how to bring her up until now. Quite literally the perfect book for this week! I find that the part of her work that is most relevant to our class discussions so far is her section on the writing process, where she argues that writing must be done in different stages to be effective for healing. She writes, “I’ve come to understand that the most healing way of approaching the writing process is to focus upon the potential and possibilities for growth rather than upon its problems and pitfalls. Knowing what each stage of the process affords us and making explicit our intention for using the process as a healing experience assure us that we will pass through each stage in the most enriching way possible” (DeSalvo, 1999). I am attaching to this blog post a PDF of this chapter for your enjoyment.

Writing as a Way of Healing_Louise Desalvo_Stages of the Writing ProcessDownload

Very short blog post this week, but I just thought that sharing is caring—so, enjoy! (Also, no annotations because I was not printing out 40 pages. Sorry!)

Student Blogs

queer theory and the memoir

Queer theory posits that identity, much like the act of writing, is fluid. Ever-changing. It requires grappling with boundaries and definitions that might have never been under consideration before. If I had any takeaways from this article (with which I struggled—it just felt so heady at times), it was this. I initially started writing this blog post as some way to connect this lesson with the other realizations I’ve had over the course of our class, but I found myself continuously led back to one idea: writing memoir.

I know I’ve made it a habit of including anecdotes with my blog posts. To be honest: I struggled with this one. It reminded me a bit of our first reading from Lauer—a lot of ideas that I agreed with, but did not know what to do with. I did not want to just write about being queer and being a writer, because that did not feel in line with the spirit of the article. I ended up reflecting on part of the memoir I had written in a class taught by Edi Giunta. While the content was about me being bisexual, I ended up realizing that the act of writing it was in itself pedagogically queer.

no annotations bc i did not get time to print this week </3, so here’s the first line of said memoir

If identity is fluid, memoir is the act of capturing your identity at one point in time. Past that, you must decide which identity you are writing from. You may be writing about your seven year old self, but whose voice are you using? The child version of you, or the version of you now, who has experienced more and knows more? How do those identities live in the same piece? What do you do with the inherent tension between them?

Memoir is also an act of grappling with your perceived identity. When you write memoir, it is your perception of who you are and what you have experienced. However, we cannot discount the fact that you have also been perceived and experienced. It is a constant negotiation of truth, and is just one of the many distinct layers of identity and experience we have. If you remember an experience one way and someone else remembers it differently, you have every right to write it as you remember. However, you must always be prepared to have it seen another way. My parents do not know I am queer. To them, I am as straight and cis as one can be. It does not help that my partner is, in fact, a straight cis man. That is the identity I have chosen to take up around them. While writing this memoir—and subsequently having it published online—I had to reconcile with the fact that there were two different spaces for me and my identities, and that there was a very real possibility that they might cross over. Still, I decided it was worth it.

As a genre, memoir is also well-equipped to discover what is possible in and out of its boundaries. “Queer Theory in the Writing Classroom” pulls from Ki Namaste and their argument that heterosexuality must exist for us to be able to understand queer theory. The boundaries of one form the definition of the other. That means we can, as writers, use queer theory and memoir as a space to play and explore. My favorite memoir, Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House, is a beautiful example of this. Not only does Machado use its subject matter (confronting the lack of domestic abuse narratives in lesbian stories, even though it is a grim reality) to question what is normal, but she also uses form as a way to push against norm. In the Dream House’s chapters are each based on different styles, genres, and tropes (ie., “Dream House as Horror”, “Dream House as Choose Your Own Adventure”, or “Dream House as Famous Last Words”). By acknowledging what is the norm, writers are given the tools to push against boundaries.

absolute BANGER of a book

My attempt to write about my queer memoir, in the end, was not just an attempt at inclusivity, thank god. There are also so many ideas that we’ve discussed in class that I see reflected in this article: writing as social commentary, the power of discovery, how shame robs writers. It feels good to be able to have a throughline in places I didn’t expect.

Student Blogs

Writing Should NOT Be Intimidating

Hello everyone, I am back from the dead (whatever illness has been plaguing New Jersey right now). Excuse my lateness on this post; I was out sick for a total of six days. Or should I say, I was stuck inside. Today is the first day I see the light of day, and I am very grateful to be back.

How I was looking this past weekend.(Pinterest//ravennarecklesss)

With that said, I wanted to add to the discussion I didn’t get to be a part of in the last class before moving on and posting this week’s blog discussion: 

Teach Writing as a Process Not a Product by Donald M. Murray has made me reflect on how I was taught to write, the insecurities that came up because of it, and how I’d like to talk about writing to people who’d consider themselves ‘non-writers’. 

Murray describes the traditional, scapegoat way of writing as literary analysis. Literature is not necessarily the problem. Reading and analyzing literature whilst growing up, academically, shaped the way I perceived others. I distinctly remember having to read books like The Outsiders, The Giver, The Great Gatsby, and The Catcher in the Rye, all of which made me more curious about the human mind, community, and how we should interact with the world. The problem is using renowned literature to teach kids who still don’t know how to use their own voice:

“Most of us are trained as English teachers by studying a product: writing. Our critical skills are honed by examining literature, which is finished writing; language as it has been used by authors. And then, fully trained in the autopsy, we go out and are assigned to teach our students to write, to make language live.” (p. 3)

Published literature, at the end of the day, is finished. It’s like trying to encourage an aspiring architect in school to try to build his own version of the Empire State Building. When does our writing, or even better, when did our writing become merely mimesis rather than our own products brewed from the process that authentic writing is supposed to be?

Bring back authentic work.

We’re performing “autopsies.” But what about living writing? The writing that is still breathing. I do not want to only read and then compare myself to writing that has gone through hundreds of revisions and different editors. I do not have an editor; I only have myself. I think that’s why it is so important for us to share our “shitty first drafts,” the scribbles on the page, the thoughts at 2 am in our notes app.

Maybe that’s why published journals, like Slyvias Plath’s Unabridged Journals, are so personable. They’re still alive. Imperfectly human. Even poetry can be shared this way: Tupac Shakur’s “A Rose That Grew from Concrete.”

Instead of this structured way of teaching writing, Murray suggests writing as an experience of three parts: prewriting, writing, and rewriting, all with an emphasis on learning, finding voice, and creative autonomy. I think I’ll think of his theory in every writing practice I do, whether teaching or participating. Writing should not be intimidating. It should be accessible to all.

Student Blogs

like a kid in a candy store, except everything is free and made of big words

In reading Janice Lauer’s “Rhetoric and Composition”, I find myself thinking about my experience with the act of writing throughout my years in school. It feels odd to be able to put a name to all the work I’ve done before, both as a student and during my experience as a tutor. The margins of my print-out copy of the reading recall my experiences in the classroom: “i always talk about how students consider themselves ‘bad writers’” and “dr. walters is that you” in response to the idea of revision.

i come with receipts

In particular, I found myself reflecting on what Lauer calls the current-traditional paradigm, and how for most of my life, writing was taught to be a challenge with subjective parameters. There was an idea of what good writing was, who did it, and where it could be found. Rhetoric was a two-day unit (vocabulary test included), and feedback from teachers focused on punctuation and sentence counts. This experience with writing often extended past me. When I talk about how people learn to write, I tend to refer back to a student of mine who considered herself a “bad writer”. In reality, her issue was a weak grasp on things like comma placement, something that we were able to fix in just a few tutoring sessions. Her voice, however, was something that seemed to come naturally. She was adamant that she wasn’t good at writing, and for the first half of the semester, was hesitant to engage with our class. I think years of being told writing could only be done a certain way taught her to feel shame in her work. To coax her out of her shell took delicate care and, unconsciously for me, many of the ideologies Lauer covers.

there’s a joke in here somewhere

Only in college did I realize what studying English could entail. For the first time, I was able to see English as not just Shakespeare and five-sentence paragraphs. I fell in love with writing as a craft and being able to help others understand it. I know now that this is because of the nature of rhetoric and composition, being a “human science”, as described by Louise Wetherbee Phelps. I found it funny that as I read, I was able to connect ideas with experience: the theories of invention I had come across while generating writing across classes or the factors that influenced my feedback to students I tutored. What a surprise, I thought, that although I was not aware of the science, there exists a reason for the things I learned to do. More than that, while reading about the growth of the field of rhetoric, I was fascinated by the idea that composition had been, “considered only a teaching practice”. To me, it only made sense that the field grew. I was reminded of the saying: “how you do something is how you do everything”. The way we compose—the way we put together our words—is the basis of almost everything we do. It is how we express ourselves, why we write to-do lists, where we get the information to write a report. Of course it is natural that we study it.

“it is ALL connected” – me, re: writing being interdisciplinary

I am excited to finally “put a name to the face”, or so to speak, with all I have learned about writing so far. During our check-ins last week, I spoke about how, for me, returning to school meant practicing being more deliberate. The information in this reading is similar. It forces me to look back on my learning experience with a new lens and pick it apart. When was I taught this idea? How? Which of these ideas do I subscribe to, and what experience taught me to think otherwise? Even the philosophical aspects, which I sometimes struggle to wrap my brain around, excite me. It feels like I am about to open a whole new set of toys with which to write with.

Student Blogs

like a kid in a candy store, except everything is free and made of big words

In reading Janice Lauer’s “Rhetoric and Composition”, I find myself thinking about my experience with the act of writing throughout my years in school. It feels odd to be able to put a name to all the work I’ve done before, both as a student and during my experience as a tutor. The margins of my print-out copy of the reading recall my experiences in the classroom: “i always talk about how students consider themselves ‘bad writers’” and “dr. walters is that you” in response to the idea of revision.

i come with receipts

In particular, I found myself reflecting on what Lauer calls the current-traditional paradigm, and how for most of my life, writing was taught to be a challenge with subjective parameters. There was an idea of what good writing was, who did it, and where it could be found. Rhetoric was a two-day unit (vocabulary test included), and feedback from teachers focused on punctuation and sentence counts. This experience with writing often extended past me. When I talk about how people learn to write, I tend to refer back to a student of mine who considered herself a “bad writer”. In reality, her issue was a weak grasp on things like comma placement, something that we were able to fix in just a few tutoring sessions. Her voice, however, was something that seemed to come naturally. She was adamant that she wasn’t good at writing, and for the first half of the semester, was hesitant to engage with our class. I think years of being told writing could only be done a certain way taught her to feel shame in her work. To coax her out of her shell took delicate care and, unconsciously for me, many of the ideologies Lauer covers.

there’s a joke in here somewhere

Only in college did I realize what studying English could entail. For the first time, I was able to see English as not just Shakespeare and five-sentence paragraphs. I fell in love with writing as a craft and being able to help others understand it. I know now that this is because of the nature of rhetoric and composition, being a “human science”, as described by Louise Wetherbee Phelps. I found it funny that as I read, I was able to connect ideas with experience: the theories of invention I had come across while generating writing across classes or the factors that influenced my feedback to students I tutored. What a surprise, I thought, that although I was not aware of the science, there exists a reason for the things I learned to do. More than that, while reading about the growth of the field of rhetoric, I was fascinated by the idea that composition had been, “considered only a teaching practice”. To me, it only made sense that the field grew. I was reminded of the saying: “how you do something is how you do everything”. The way we compose—the way we put together our words—is the basis of almost everything we do. It is how we express ourselves, why we write to-do lists, where we get the information to write a report. Of course it is natural that we study it.

“it is ALL connected” – me, re: writing being interdisciplinary

I am excited to finally “put a name to the face”, or so to speak, with all I have learned about writing so far. During our check-ins last week, I spoke about how, for me, returning to school meant practicing being more deliberate. The information in this reading is similar. It forces me to look back on my learning experience with a new lens and pick it apart. When was I taught this idea? How? Which of these ideas do I subscribe to, and what experience taught me to think otherwise? Even the philosophical aspects, which I sometimes struggle to wrap my brain around, excite me. It feels like I am about to open a whole new set of toys with which to write with.

Student Blogs

My bout with lateness

Hello Dear Reader,

My name is Zachary Martin. I might’ve been bitten by a radioactive student and for the last three years I have been an English teacher at Plainfield High School.

Most of y’all know the rest.

I am a huge nerd.

I haven’t saved the city (yet).

I write a bit of poetry, a bit of fiction, a bit of non fiction.

(I think i’ve drained this bit for all its worth.)

In all seriousness, I am a full time teacher and I really enjoy it. I have had over a decade of experience working with kids so teaching kind of just made sense. I have to say that I really enjoy what I do and I look forward to it (almost) every day.

In my free time, I am a half of a writer. I haven’t found my particular niche yet, so I don’t really feel like I have earned the full title of writer, I feel more like a person who writes. But I will say that I’ve written some poems I am proud of. I enjoy writing fiction (even though I leave most of my pieces to bleed out on a forgotten page). And I write academically — of course— both for class and my job. I have a bit of a situationship with writing. I would consider it a passion of mine but it’s one of those things where I’ll spend hours wanting to write, but the moment I sit down I am incapable. Like The story I will write will never be as good as the one I want to write.

Before I spiral I’m gonna shift gears.

These are the most important people in my life. I try to spend what time I can with them, despite our busy schedules. This particular photo was taken on the return train from NYC, we went to try to see the Christmas tree (We failed).

I love going to shows, any kind of show. The picture above was from Dog Days Afternoon, with Jon Bernthal (oh yeah) and Ebon Moss-Bachrach. I also recently saw Hayao Miyazaki, Haylee Williams, and Delaware Water Gap (not at the same time). In November I am going to a Sammy Rae and the friends show at the Brooklyn Paramount and I am so excited! (If you haven’t heard her, do yourself a favor.)

I also do indeed be chefin’ it up. I think if teaching doesn’t work I’ll write and cook. If writing doesn’t work, I’ll just cook. I wish I had a photo to add but I cannot find any, I don’t take a lot of pictures.

Last but not least, my why.

While there is the reason all of my coworkers assume, it moves me pay scale, I did the math and the amount I pay is just about the amount I earn. So that isn’t really it.

I think it’s far more simple than that. I really enjoy writing. Every day I want to be better at the craft than I was the day before. I love the feeling of looking at something I wrote a while ago and seeing where I can improve. I like knowing techniques and skills that I can pass on to my students. I want to be the best writer I can be. And hopefully, one day, after exposing myself to as much as possible, I will find my niche.

Anyway, until next time Dear Reader!

Student Blogs

On Continuing My Education

My journey of being a ‘forever’ student.

I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English-Writing this past May. It wasn’t long before I decided to pursue my MA, and even pursue it at the same institution where I did my undergrad. The seed was definitely planted, though. A little over a year ago, to be exact.

It was my second time joining Dr.Zamora’s Writers’ Retreat. The first time I met her, she reminded me of a forest fire (in the best way possible, of course). She was ignited by her studies, all the programs she ran (like MyFest), and just her baseline passion for the arts gleamed through her like a second pair of clothes. Nothing would put her out. This time around, three years later, she was calmer. A stern tree rooted by wisdom only grief can grant to someone. 

After we wrapped up workshopping what we’d been working on for those last three weeks, she told me about the MA opportunities here at Kean. Shamefully, I didn’t even know what an MA was. She expressed her enthusiasm for us to be able to continue working together. An opportunity that would pay for half, if not all, of my tuition. The thought of working with a woman like her felt enticing, for sure, but more so intimidating. Me? An undergrad nobody to work with a DOCTOR? 

Yeah, no way.

The Tide Changes

Still, I was flattered. I let some time go by and never revisited the proposition. I would’ve been satisfied enough to tell people that Dr. Mia Zamora wanted me in her program. 

“Engrave that on my tombstone. Here lies Alyssa Rivers, a student who was asked by a scholar, poet, doctor, wife, mother, friend, and sister, to work close alongside her.” My friends are used to my dramatics by now.

It wasn’t until last semester that another mentor of mine, Abrianna Jette, told me about the academic route she took. After her bachelor’s, she received her MA followed by her MFA ( a master’s in creative writing), and then her PHD to become the wonderful professor she is today. She explained the purpose of an MA and all the classes you can take:

I heard Racial and Ethnic Identities in Literature, Advanced Poetry, How to Teach Writing, graduate-level psychology courses, and there it happened: with some kindness and a few strawberry sour patches, the tide changed. I’ve never been more sure. I was going to pursue my Master’s.

One Week Into My Master’s Program

Poetry was my first love. I knew MFA programs like the back of my hand. MA was completely new to me. Why am I doing this? I knew I wanted to do this for myself, that I was on the route to becoming a professor, and not only because of my mentors; yet, I became speechless when someone would ask why. Why? 

If we took money and jobs out of the equation, would you choose to be in school? If so, why? My answer became simple: to learn and share. I am here to learn as much as I humanly can; I am here to share what I’ve learned as much as humanly possible. It is my passion. School just so happens to give me the routine, resources, and discipline to do so. It is why I went to China, on a whim, to study for four months and teach 1st graders English; it is why I got my 200-hour yoga teacher certification, with my first free community class coming up tomorrow.

My plan goes as follows: MA>MFA>>P.H.D. Obviously, whichever journey life permits and whatever comes between, because we have so little control of our destiny at the end of the day, but a baddie with 4 degrees? Sounds hot to me. 

What, like it’s hard?

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.” 

Slyvia Plath

If I am so blessed with top-tier brain health well into my 70’s, I want to continue learning until I can no longer see, hear, taste, or smell. I want to teach until my breath crashes down like a tsunami after it reaches its climax. It is not possible to grasp all the shades, tones, and variations in this one life…it is still beautiful to try. Until then,

-Your forever student.